


Poor Pistachio

by sandy_s



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Frozen Yogurt, pistachio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 23:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14123307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandy_s/pseuds/sandy_s
Summary: Set after “Once More with Feeling” but prior to “Tabula Rasa.” Buffy gets a job at Sunnydale’s new frozen yogurt shop, and who should also happen to be working there? None other than the bleach-blonde vampire who loves her. Imagine that Buffy is more malleable like fro-yo vs. ice cream and that Spike actually listened to what she sang to him at the end of the episode.Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns all.





	Poor Pistachio

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Megan (megan_peta) for her birthday! Happy birthday to one of my oldest fandom friends! Hope your day was wonderful!
> 
> Special thank you to slaymesoftly for the super fast beta read and extremely helpful comments.  
> Thanks to swifthorse for being a cheerleader.  
> Beautiful banner by OffYourBird! Love it! 
> 
> Fic inspired by the challenge put forth by the Sunnydale Fanfic Club on tumblr. The prompt for April was rain and broken yogurt machine. 
> 
> Sadly, I could find no good song lyrics or quotes about frozen yogurt machines...though maybe someone should write a country song about a sad, broken fro-yo machine.

Thunder rumbled and lightning darted in haphazard branches of light as Buffy crossed the street to the yogurt shop. When her boot hit the sidewalk just past the reach of the protective awning, the bottom fell out of the clouds. Rain poured on top of her head, ruining the waves she’d carefully coiffed to give her new boss the sense that yes, she was perky and fun and would be a wonderful addition to the yogurt shop team.

 

With a shriek of dismay, she dove for cover near the glass door that proudly read, “Wicked Cold Creamery.” Warm yellow light beckoned her inside, but before she let herself go inside, she squinted at her vague reflection in the door. Chewing on her lower lip, she tried to arrange her hair and smooth her rain-streaked blouse. She hoped the rain would let up before she went patrolling.

 

Buffy had to make a good impression. The money Giles gave her had covered a lot of the immediate bills, but the day-to-day running of the Summers household required a steady paycheck. A regular job served the added and much needed function of getting her out of the house as much as possible in the evenings before patrol. It meant she had to spend less time seeing Willow’s sad, guilty eyes and dealing with her sister’s variable teenage moods. Buffy couldn’t take care of everyone.

 

When she revealed that she’d been in Heaven during Xander’s song spell, Buffy had inadvertently freed the emotions been trying so desperately to chain in the back of her mind. The chains removed, she’d spiraled back into sadness and pain. She’d also kissed Spike at the end of said spell, and to be honest, she wanted to pretend that never happened either. The kiss reminded her of a time when she was younger and carefree and under the influence of Willow’s spell to have her will done. Buffy was hoping a regular job might help her feel like a functioning human being again. Spike had told her she had to keep living, and that was one thing she was holding onto out of the whole bursting-into-song debacle.

 

In any case, there was a hell of a lot riding on this little job at the new yogurt shop on the edge of town.

 

Straightening her shoulders in determination and trying on Willow’s resolve face, Buffy pulled open the door.

 

The first thing she noticed was the sweet scent of sugar that permeated the air and the homey atmosphere with low lights and comfy leather chairs arranged around low wooden tables. The walls were a rich deep burgundy, and the art included tastefully framed sepia-and-white prints of different ice cream and yogurt shops around the country. The floor seemed to be some sort of linoleum made to look like wood, probably good for mopping up sticky yogurt messes. The self-serve yogurt machines, bar of dessert toppings, and the cash register were on the left, carefully set to one side to preserve the carefully crafted ambience of the seating area.

 

There were no patrons at this hour, but Buffy knew that they hadn’t had a Grand Opening yet. She also didn’t see or hear any workers.

 

Buffy found her chipper tone. “Hello? It’s me. You know? Buffy. Buffy Summers. I’m here for the orientation.” Then, a familiar feeling crept up the back of her neck. Her eyes grew round. Vampire. Was that why no one was around? Scanning the room, she saw a door ajar behind the checkout counter. Making a strategic decision to feign ignorance, she called once more, “Hello?” Then, lifting one leg while keeping her head up and senses alert, she slid a stake from her boot into her palm.

 

She heard the soft murmur of voices coming from the back room as she approached, her feet silent against the hard floor. The vampire signal was getting stronger. Holding her breath, she gripped her stake, the wood grain rough against her fingers.

 

Just as she was about to burst through the door to rescue her new boss, a tall man appeared in the doorway. Buffy hastily shoved the stake up her sleeve. Dressed casually in jeans and an untucked navy button-up, the man’s dark skin glowed with health as he smiled broadly at her.

 

He offered his hand to her. “You must be Buffy. Welcome! I’m Max Fisher. We spoke on the phone.” His voice was deep and jovial to match his outward appearance. Buffy considered that her choice to be cheerful was a good one.

 

Buffy resisted the urge to frown. He wasn’t a vampire, and he had no visible vampire bites. Before too much time passed and the moment got too awkward, she grasped his hand. His handshake was firm and warm, his large fingers engulfing her smaller ones. “Thank you. I’m excited to be here.” There was some truth, mostly lie, in that statement.

 

Max let go of her hand and placed his on the door frame. “Well, we’re glad to have you. I need the help. My wife and I always wanted to open a yogurt shop that would be open at night like a coffee shop and hopefully attract the same type of clientele that a coffee shop would. Other yogurt shops are just so. . . cold and overly bright and colorful.”

 

Buffy glanced back over her shoulder. “I’d say you were successful. It’s cozy.”

 

“Thanks. Come on back.”

 

Max motioned her into the next room. Buffy’s instincts were on high alert for any sign of the vampire she was still detecting, but she almost gasped when the tall man turned his back to her.

 

Max had a tail! It was a long, fuzzy tail with a blonde tuft at the end that wove and bobbed and flicked slightly as he walked.

 

Before Buffy could respond, Max stepped to one side to slide into the chair behind his desk in the small office. Her jaw dropped open, and her Judas of a heart skipped a beat when she saw the source of her vampire tinglies lounging in one of the chairs across from Max.

 

His bleached hair almost glowing, Spike smirked at her in the yellow lamplight. “You can pick your jaw off the floor, pet.”

 

“Spike.” Buffy-of-the-past would have said his name with disgust and derision, but Buffy-of-the-now had since died and come back from Heaven. The vampire across from her had held her bleeding hands with such reverence the night she’d dug her way out of her coffin that she simply couldn’t respond the way she had in the past. Plus, she’d kissed him and of her own accord – not that she understood what that meant. All of this resulted in his name coming out of her mouth with genuine surprise.

 

Max glanced back and forth between them. “I’m guessing that the two of you know each other.”

 

Spike studied her face, his blue eyes gentle, and then, he said softly, “We do.”

 

“You’re on good terms?” Max must have sensed something not quite nameable.

 

Buffy was unable to remove her gaze from Spike’s. She wondered what he was thinking. She hadn’t seen him since he’d walked her home after their kiss. . . like a gentleman or a boyfriend. Spike was far from either. Right?

 

“We are,” she managed.

 

“Sit, sit.” Max urged.

 

Buffy suddenly remember that Max was a demon of some sort, and she refocused on him without following his command. “I’m not sure you know who I am.”

 

“Actually, I do know. You’re the Slayer, right?” Max placed his hands on the desktop, palms against the wood. Buffy noticed that there was a large bucket in front of the computer screen; water droplets fell in rapid succession from the roof and plinked against the metal. The rain was still falling heavily outside, and Max had a leak. She was momentarily caught up in the memory of the leaky pipes flooding her basement.

 

“Buffy, love? He asked you a question. You okay?” Spike sounded concerned.

 

She blinked. No use denying it even though the Slayer title felt a bit like a costume she donned when she was pretending to be normal for her friends. Talk about things changing. She used to think normal meant a house with a white picket fence, a husband, and 2.5 kids. “I am.”

 

“Please sit. Let me explain why I hired both of you.” Max was firm but kind, and Buffy decided he was genuine.

 

Affording Spike a quick look, she eased into the chair and discovered why Spike was lounging so casually. The chair back was deeper than expected. The stake that was up her sleeve clattered to the floor as she slid back so far that her feet dangled in the air. Spike bent to retrieve the wood and handed it to her, his fingers brushing hers so that she shivered. Pushing aside her body’s reaction, she moved to the edge of the chair for better balance. “Thanks,” she mumbled, tucking the stake back into her boot. 

 

Max smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry about the chairs. I should have let my wife choose them. She chose all the furniture out there, but I insisted that I pick the furnishings for my office. I forget that not everyone is as tall as me.”

 

Buffy found herself smiling. “It’s okay. Spike’s working here, too?”

 

Max nodded. “He is. Is that going to be a problem?”

 

“No. He’s not a problem.” Spike didn’t make a peep, so Buffy continued, “But you kind of are. I mean, I’m the Slayer, and you’re a. . .”

 

“A demon?” Max filled in for her. He laughed. “I am.”

 

“Slayers kill demons,” Buffy explained as if he didn’t already know.

 

“Max here’s a decent bloke. His kind are merchants. They do business and very fairly,” Spike clarified.

 

“Spike’s right. We work with demons and humans alike. We do not partake in the fight between good and evil. We seek to live peacefully among all.” Max shrugged. “Though we don’t usually run yogurt shops. My extended family’s not very happy with me because I didn’t go into the family light bulb business, but ah, such is life.”

 

That explained the nice lighting. “So, why do you want a Slayer and vampire to work for you?”

 

Max settled back in his chair, the metal squeaking with the motion. He steepled his fingers. “Spike here applied for a job, and he mentioned that you might need a job, too. I just didn’t realize you knew each other quite so well.”

 

“Oh. So, someone from a construction crew or the Magic Box didn’t recommend me?” Buffy blushed. “Don’t answer that.” She knew she was being naïve. She’d only had one other real job and had gotten that job by walking into a diner and asking about the “Help Wanted” sign. It hadn’t hurt that the manager took one look at her and decided his clientele would love being waited on by a young teenage girl. She hadn’t even had a real paycheck; the manager had paid her cash.

 

Max gazed at her evenly and without pity, and for that, Buffy was grateful. “No. No one contacted me. It was all Spike.”

 

She sighed and then smiled gratefully at Spike. “Thank you. But why do you need a job?”

 

Spike’s eyebrows moved together a fraction, and his cheeks hollowed a bit as annoyance flickered across his face. “Blood and cigarettes aren’t free, pet.”

 

Even though she could tell he was lying, she ignored her intuition and instead blurted, “Thought you stole those.”

 

Spike snorted. “You’d think that. And yeah, well, for good reason. But the chip in my noggin doesn’t exactly make nicking things easy. Plus, you wouldn’t abide – ”

 

Disconcerted by his hinted feelings for her, Buffy reacted again, “It doesn’t matter what I think. It shouldn’t.”

 

“Oh, but it does. It has for a long time now, whether you want to admit it or not,” he whispered, averting his eyes.

 

Max cleared his throat. “So, I hired you both because my yogurt shop is going to cater to humans and demons alike. We still have more hiring to do, but you’re my first employees. My wife and I want this place to be a neutral ground of sorts. I think having the Slayer on staff will go far in establishing that trend. We are, after all, on a Hellmouth, which attracts – as you well know – a variety of ne’er-do-wells. But we also like the small-town life. My wife’s having a baby, and we need something stable.”

 

“You picked a right nice location,” Spike commented, still not looking at Buffy and picking up a pen from the desk. He fidgeted with it, clicking the tip in and out, in and out.

 

Buffy vaguely wondered why she’d never really run into any baby demons at the Hellmouth. Instead, she asked a different question. “Why is it in a good location?”

 

The large demon smiled. “It’s right on the edge of the demon community in town and close to one side of the university. We’ll capture the best of both worlds.” Max slapped both hands on his thighs and rose. “Well, shall we go, so I can show you the ropes?”

 

Buffy frowned. “Shouldn’t I fill out some paperwork? Like a contract or something? How much is the pay?”

 

“Ah, yes.” Max slid open a drawer on his desk and pulled out two file folders with a stack of papers inside. “Take these home, fill them out, and bring them back tomorrow evening. Pay is eight dollars and fifteen cents an hour. Sound fair? It’s three dollars over minimum wage. I can guarantee you each 30 hours a week.”

 

Buffy was flabbergasted, accepting the paperwork. “T-that’s wonderful.”

 

“You see, love? This is gonna work out.” Spike took his folder, accidentally brushing Buffy’s arm and setting her body aflame again.

 

Spike no doubt sensed her visceral response to him, but Buffy refused to make eye contact and pretended to study her manila-colored folder.

 

“Perfect,” Max said and headed back into the shop proper. “Come on. We’re doing a soft opening tonight starting at 7 PM. That means I have about an hour to train you on the basics. My wife should be here soon to help, too.”

 

Spike and Buffy worked hard for that hour, slipping into an easy collaboration with one another, the way things often seemed between them in the last few months. Buffy marveled that they were even being kind to one another, and more than once, they’d exchanged smiles. She was surprised to find that he was rather shy around her, and she wondered if maybe he’d been just as affected by their kiss as she had been. And maybe, just maybe, she’d even unintentionally-on-purpose touched his chest with both hands when she helped him pin on his bright pink and green nametag. By the end of the hour, she was feeling a bit lightheaded from something she was starting to think she could label as desire.

 

As Max was turning the sign from closed to open, his phone beeped, and as he checked his texts, panic filled his face. “Oh, Hades. My wife!”

 

“What? What happened?” Buffy asked in alarm, her fists balling. She was ready to go punch someone if they’d hurt Max’s wife whom she’d never even met.

 

“She’s in labor!” Max dug in his pocket and then placed his retrieved keys into Buffy’s hand. He stared deliberately at Buffy and then Spike in turn. “Can I trust you two to hold down the fort while I’m gone?”

 

“B-but we don’t know what we’re – ”

 

Max was already dashing out the door. “It’s only a soft opening. You got this. No one will probably even show up.”

 

As the door swung shut behind the demon, Buffy sagged against the checkout counter, holding the keys in her turned up palm like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. Nothing ever turned out right lately. “What’re we going to do?”

 

Spike sloughed off his jacket and laid it across the chair by the register and then rounded the counter, emulating her stance only with a lot less slouch. “I assume we’ll do what we always do when we’re in a pickle.”

 

Buffy made an incredulous face at him. “What’s that?”

 

The way Spike set his jaw told her that he was as determined to conquer this challenge as he’d been able to resist Glory’s torture. “We improvise. We work together. Get through it.”

 

“Right. You’re right.” She rose to her feet. “Let’s do this. How hard could it be? It’s just a yogurt shop, and it’s pouring rain. Who’s going to go out in this weather?”

 

“That’s the spirit, love!”

 

Their first customers were an elderly couple who probably had no business driving at night, much less in this weather. The man hobbled along with a cane, his white curls peeking out from under his ivy cap and his glasses so thick that his eyes were magnified. His wife moved so slowly that it took them a few minutes to make it to the yogurt machines. Buffy and Spike greeted them, each holding a yogurt cup. Spike took the older lady gently by the arm, and the gentleman tucked Buffy’s hand in his elbow with a smile.

 

“Hello, young lady.”

 

Buffy couldn’t help but smile in return. “What kind of yogurt would you like?”

 

His brown eyes were bright with hope. “You don’t happen to have pistachio almond, do you?”

 

“As a matter of fact, we do,” Buffy said with genuine optimism. “Only, it doesn’t have actual almonds in it, but we do have those on the toppings bar.”

 

“Well, then, my dear, I’d love some pistachio.”

 

Buffy guided her customer to the machine with the bright green yogurt swirling inside. Unhooking her hand from his arm, she set his cup under the spout. Then, she studied the lever with a frown on her face. Crap. She’d already forgotten how to work this thing, and the hinge wasn’t obvious like most yogurt machines because of Max’s aesthetic. She could have sworn that he followed a couple of steps to get the yogurt flowing.

 

Pressing her lips together in concentration, she took hold of the handle and barely pushed one way. Nothing. Then, she tried sideways. Nothing.

 

Crap. Crappity crap. Her cheeks became hot with embarrassment.

 

Making a face at the stupid lever, she put a bit more strength behind pushing it up. The metal screeched with her exertion, and yogurt began gushing out, quickly overwhelming the flimsy cup.

 

Panic filling her chest, Buffy tried to pull the lever back down but to no avail. Then, she tried to catch the excess yogurt in another cup, but that one filled just as quickly. Before she knew it, her hands were covered in cold, sticky soft serve.

 

The old man chuckled. “Guess you don’t know your own strength.”

 

Understatement of the year. “Um, Spike?” she said with only a hint of the amount of anxiety that filled her sinking stomach.

 

“Yeah, pet?” Spike was behind her, already at the toppings bar with his customer.

 

“We have a teeny tiny problem,” she hedged. Yogurt was spilling onto the floor – a great, thick green sea of pistachio.

 

Spike appeared at her side and immediately examined the lever. “Bloody hell! What’d you do?!”

 

“I, um. . .”

 

Pistachio yogurt oozed closer to their feet.

 

“She broke the lever.” The older gentleman then added protectively, “I don’t think she meant to.”

 

Her goopy fingers spread wide – as if that would help them be less of a mess – Buffy gestured helplessly, tears filling her eyes. She couldn’t do anything right, and this broken machine was unexpectedly emblematic of everything going wrong in her life. “How do we turn it off?”

 

“On it.” Spike dashed off toward the back room.

 

The old man patted her shoulder. “It’s okay.” He picked out another cup and scooped up some of the yogurt that was still hanging onto the machine.

 

In a few seconds, the yogurt ceased its relentless mass exodus, and Buffy sighed with relief. Wiping her hands with a huge wad of napkins, she turned to the old man. “Want some toppings?”

 

Her customer smiled. “I’d love some almonds, my dear.”

 

Thirty minutes later, the elderly couple had headed back into the storm, the yogurt machine and floor were free of sticky green ooze, and Buffy had even made a little “out of order” sign from a file folder that she then taped to the hopelessly damaged lever.

 

Now that the crisis was averted, she was back to feeling completely defeated, but this time, she flopped in one of the leather chairs. Setting the empty bucket from Max’s office on the table, Spike sat in the chair next to her, his forearms on his thighs as he gazed at her with concern.

 

Buffy nodded at the metal bucket. “What’s catching the drips now?”

 

“Oh, uh, I put the trashcan on the desk. Bucket was getting full due to the nasty weather out there, and the trashcan’s bigger.”

 

“Good thinking.” Buffy was acknowledging Spike doing stuff right a lot more than normal. She wasn’t sure what to make of it, so she stayed silent for several seconds and then said, “I can’t do anything right. Nothing works anymore, and anything that does takes so much work. You should have let me burn up.” A tear slipped over her cheek.

 

He edged forward and hesitated only a moment before brushing the tear away with his thumb. “I’m never going to let you do that, love.”

 

“Why haven’t you given up on me?” She was earnest in her curiosity but wholly unsure if asking the question meant she would ever give in to what she knew he wanted with her.

This time, he held her gaze instead of avoiding it. “Why would I ever give up on you?”

 

She sighed. “I haven’t exactly been nice to you. I mean, I kissed you, let you walk me home, and then ignored you for days after.”

 

“I figured it’s what you need right now.”

 

“You’re going to have to start believing that you’re worth more than that.” Did she really just say that out loud? That Spike was worth something beyond someday possibly being a heap of dust in her pan?

 

Spike tilted his head in that way that secretly drove her crazy. “And you see? That’s why I’m patient. When I’ve needed it, you’ve been there for me.”

 

She lifted both eyebrows in disbelief at him. “When was that?”

 

He put a finger out for each instance. “When Angelus was stealing my gi - Dru away and trying to end the world for one. When I got the chip jammed in my brain for another. And when I got torn up by Glory.”

 

Buffy held up her own fingers. “Three times. And the first time doesn’t really count. So, all together, that’s not very many times.”

 

“Very significant times in my mind. If I recall, I had nowhere to go after the Initiative made sure I couldn’t eat or fight or do any of the things vampires are wont to do. And you’ve been through worse. I’ve never been ripped out of Heaven.” When tears welled in her eyes again, he added, “I can imagine that’ll take a long while to feel right about.”

 

“If ever,” Buffy whispered.

 

“Right. So, let me be there for you.”

 

She realized something she hadn’t considered earlier. “You got this job to help Dawn and me.” She wiped her tears away so that she could see the truth in the blue depths of his eyes.

 

Now, it was Spike’s turn to squirm, but he didn’t run from it. “What of it?”

 

“Thank you.” She meant it.

 

Spike merely leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Anytime, pet.”

 

“We’re so going to get fired.”

 

He chuckled. “Maybe not.”

 

Fifteen minutes later, the shop was beset upon by what seemed like a school bus full of kids. . . demon kids. The irony of the sudden appearance of demon children was not lost on Buffy. She couldn’t tell how old they were. Seven, eight, nine? They were a rambunctious little group of different colors: red, blue, green, and a deep purple. Some had horns, some had scales, some had cloven hooves. She wondered how those with the hooves could possibly hold a spoon to eat fro-yo. There were two adult demon chaperones, one of whom gave her side eye and a wide berth and the other who was too involved in herding the kids to even notice her.

 

Two of the children were standing in front of the pistachio yogurt with hips jutted out and frowns on their faces. They carried little purses and wore high-heeled boots, and Buffy decided that they must be female, but she wasn’t completely sure as they also both had the beginnings of beards.

 

One of them saw Buffy approaching and pointed at the broken machine. “Your store is new, and you already have a broken flavor?”

 

The other demon crossed his or her arms, glared, and added, “And our favorite flavor.”

 

“We have other flavors,” Buffy offered, gesturing at the other machines. “Mint chocolate chip, vanilla buttercream, or German chocolate just to name a few. Any of those sound good?” 

 

“Yuck.”

 

“Double yuck.”

 

Buffy sighed just as a loud scuffle over by the toppings bar broke out. Two of the other demon kids were throwing punches and slinging cherries, hunks of Oreo cookies, tapioca, and gummy bears at one another. The wary chaperone was hanging back near the front door and staring at Buffy, and the other one studiously ignored the mess in favor of helping the smallest demon child get a cup full of cookie-dough-flavored yogurt.

 

Spike stepped into the fray and put a steadying hand on the chest of each of the fighting demons. “Hey now. No fighting or you’re going to get yourselves kicked out.”

 

“Kick us out, and we’ll complain to the manager,” groused the taller of the two who kept bucking up against Spike’s hand.

 

The smaller one sneered at his foe. “Great. Now you’re getting us kicked out of the new yogurt place. Good job, Frank.”

 

There was a loud shriek followed by the sound of crying, and Buffy whirled from Spike’s debacle to see a tiny blue-skinned demon in a puddle of bright green yogurt on the floor. Nearby, one of the demon kids who had complained about the pistachio machine was snickering and holding an empty cup. Buffy’s “out of order” sign was ripped in half, and the broken lever was now twisted in a whole different, contorted direction, leftover melted pistachio yogurt drizzling out of the nozzle.

 

Buffy stormed over to the prankster and snatched the cup away. “That’s not funny. Apologize to your. . . friend!”

 

“He’s not my friend.”

 

The blue-skinned demon began sobbing harder.

 

“What you did do?” The demon chaperone who had been hanging back stormed over, glaring at Buffy.

 

Buffy held both palms up and protested, “But I didn’t – ” The shop phone began ringing, its trill rising above the din of demon children. Perfect timing. “I gotta get that,” she said half-apologetically before hurrying away.

 

On the way around Spike and the end of the counter, Buffy noticed that half the group of demon children was already clustered in the eating area. They were consuming their yogurt without paying for it! She gritted her teeth. One problem at a time.

 

Snatching up the receiver, she summoned every ounce of exuberant energy she had left. “You’ve reached Wicked Cold Creamery. How may I help you?” God, she sounded like the Buffybot.

 

Max’s voice was teeny on the other end of the line like he was speaking from far away. “How’s it going? No one showed up, right?”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Buffy said and then smoothly changed the subject. “How’s your wife?”

 

“Good, good. Glad some people showed up! Do you have any questions or concerns?”

 

“No, um.” Buffy turned and briefly watched as another fight broke out when another demon child stole his peer’s leftover yogurt. She turned back around. “No questions.” Concerns yes, questions no.

 

“Good, good. My wife’s great. Labor is going well. She’s going to be a while though. Keep holding down the fort for us?” Max sounded happy.

 

“Fort. Yes. We’ll hold down the fort.” The fort was rapidly turning into the Battle of the Alamo. She hoped he couldn’t hear the screaming, crying, and thumping coming from behind her.

 

“Thank you! See you soon.” Max hung up the phone.

 

Buffy placed the receiver in its cradle and drew in a deep, very needed breath, her shoulders lifting with the effort. As she slowly exhaled, she pivoted to view the chaos. Steeling herself, she charged into the fray and strode up to Spike, who was trying desperately to break apart a giant yogurt/food fight. 

 

“’Bout time, Sl -, er, Buffy,” he growled and then he sobered. “A little help here?”

 

“Yep.” Buffy planted her feet, crossed her arms, and bellowed in her best commander-y Slayer voice – the one she used on the Watcher’s Council when they came to visit Sunnydale, “Stop!”

 

All noises and fights immediately ceased, and all eyes were on her. The demon children were slack-jawed, and the demon chaperones went from looking indifferent to startled.

 

Buffy gathered the energy inside herself. “Okay. Now that I have your attention, I need you to all pay for your yogurt and then leave. Wicked Cold Creamery is supposed to be a sanctuary of calm for those – human and demon alike – who want to partake of some delicious fro-yo and relax. This,” She gestured at the entire space, “is neither calm nor relaxing.”

 

Spike smirked and crossed his arms next to her, clearly impressed. “Better listen to the Slayer, kiddies.”

 

“T-the Slayer?” The impudent demon who’d further destroyed the pistachio machine appeared genuinely fearful, stepping behind the bullied blue-skinned munchkin. 

 

“Yep,” Buffy said. “Let’s go.”

 

Everyone was suddenly toeing the line, and before Buffy knew it, the demons had paid for their yogurt and were headed out into the storm.

 

The suspicious chaperone paused in the doorway, one clawed hand on the door. She shook her head at Spike and Buffy. “Figures. I’ve heard about you two. Thanks to you, the kids will be having nightmares for weeks.” Then, she banged her way out, the sound of pouring rain punctuating her exit. Buffy decided that the rain seemed somewhat lighter than before.

 

Buffy sighed. “Well, at least they paid.” She pushed her lips to one side and gave Spike a confused glance. “What have they ‘heard about’ us? And do demon children usually go out for yogurt in big groups like that?”

 

Spike’s arm bumped hers as he headed for the supply closet next to Max’s office, and Buffy found herself longing for more contact.

 

He called back over his shoulder, “Demons work at night which leaves their little ones without supervision. Likely the two adults are the babysitting type. As for the one, I’m not sure what she’s talking about, pet. But one thing I do know is that they won’t be coming round here anytime soon.”

 

“Good.” Buffy sure didn’t want to try to manage that bunch again.

 

“Not good. We just lost the boss some business.”

 

“Not so good,” Buffy agreed, but this time, she discovered that she didn’t feel quite as crushed as earlier.

 

Buffy turned to watch Spike pull out a mop, soap, and bottles of cleaning spray. “Good thing I swapped out the bucket for the drips.”

 

Buffy accepted the cleaning spray and a pile of towels that Spike passed her over the checkout counter. “Good thing. That’s a lot of ‘goods.’”

 

“A word not usually associated with me.” Spike’s tone was edged with sarcasm.

 

Buffy blinked, and her lips parted, momentarily stunned given how easy they’d been with each other most of the evening. Where was this coming from?

 

Spike scoffed at her lack of response, and he turned his back on her as he snagged the handle of the pail he’d stowed behind the counter and slammed it in the sink next to the closet. He flipped the sink on, and water began filling the bucket, loud against the metal.

 

Buffy stared at Spike’s rigid back and felt inexplicably at a loss. Her world felt a bit shift-y as if she’d lost her footing with the vampire angry with her. She hadn’t realized how much he was steadying her. Shakily, she headed into the seating area and sprayed a big arc of the cleaning fluid. As she scrubbed the tables, chairs, walls, and pictures, she listened intently to Spike pushing the mop into the water and then swabbing the floor. She longed to have things right between them, but she had no idea how to get back there when she wasn’t even sure going back was where she should be going. Why did he have to be so confusing? She scrubbed harder, the sticky mess coming up easily under her ministrations.

 

When she could stand the silence between them no more, she somehow managed to find her way to clean close to him. Clearing her throat but unable to look him in the face, she said, “I’m sorry. You’ve been doing a lot to help me for a long time now. . . and I-I’ve been a mess since I got back.” Before she realized what she was saying, she babbled onward, “And I know I confused you with the kiss and the song.”

 

“I think you made it perfectly clear in your lyrics. You bloody well said it wasn’t real, and I was so happy to touch you that I didn’t really listen.” Hurt infiltrating his tone, he sounded resolute in this belief.

 

“I-I don’t think I knew what it meant.” She couldn’t put words to what happened in the Bronze with Sweet making her dance and sing her truth. Still, she tried. “I’d just revealed my secret to my friends. I almost burned up under that spell. Everyone was so hurt, a-and everything still feels surreal sometimes. It was even more surreal with the spell.” She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t know how to describe it. I get pockets sometimes. When my life feels real. A-and usually those pockets are with you.” She let herself gaze at him then, and she found his bright eyes watching her with hope that she didn’t want to crush. “I don’t know what it is. The thing between us. But I know that I’m not ready for anything. And I meant what I said earlier. You’re worth more than that. I remember what you did for me and Dawn even before. Those things were. . . are real. You’re doing them now. And I don’t really understand why.” Before she knew what was happening, she was sobbing with her head in her hands, all the emotion from the last few weeks bubbling to the surface.

 

Buffy felt cool arms encircle her waist, and Spike pulled her close as she trembled. With one hand, he stroked her hair. “Shhh, pet. I’m here. You don’t have to know what it all means or what you’re feeling. It’ll take time, and that’s okay. I’m still going to be here for you and the little Bit.” Buffy clung to the vampire until her sobs dwindled to hiccups, and then he pulled back, smoothing her hair off her face. “We should finish cleaning.”

 

Buffy laughed through the tears. “Words I never thought I’d hear William the Bloody say.”

 

“Hey now,” he said, sounding affronted, “I may be a vampire, but I’ve got good personal hygiene.”

 

Buffy giggled. “Another ‘good.’”

 

Spike picked up the damp, dirty towel she’d dropped and slapped it into her hand. “Get cleaning.”

 

She grinned at him. “Fine.”

 

The door to the shop opened then, and a familiar voice said, “What the heck, Spike? Why are you even in the remote vicinity of Buffy?”

 

Buffy almost jumped out of her skin as she saw Xander enter the yogurt shop followed by Anya, Willow, and Tara. Xander and Tara each carried a dripping umbrella that they folded up.

 

All of Buffy’s momentary peace was washed away at the appearance of her friends, leaving behind a heavy cloud of sadness. She longed for them to leave and let her have this momentary bit of freedom with Spike. Odd how she felt like her friends were the intruders now and not the vampire.

 

“Um, in case it isn’t obvious by the sodding ridiculous nametags, we work here,” Spike retorted.

 

Xander scowled. “Since when do you work here? Can you even get a job as a member of the undead?”

 

Buffy decided that now was not the time to mention that the latest Sunnydale hangout spot was owned by a demon couple.

 

Anya tugged at her boyfriend’s sleeve. “Xander, I don’t think we have any right to – “

 

“Don’t we?” Xander asked.

 

“Actually, we don’t,” Tara said softly, stepping out from behind Willow. Her long blonde hair was pulled up in two messy buns on top of her head, making her look younger than her stated age – more vulnerable.

 

Willow shifted uncomfortably and stared away from the group, her eyes weighty with her own sorrow. “I just wanted to try the new yogurt place. I didn’t know Buffy and Spike worked here. Can we not fight?”

 

“Should have known something wicked would be working at the ‘Wicked Cold Creamery,’” Xander huffed.

 

A flash of annoyance shot through Buffy’s chest. “In case none of you noticed, I kind of have to have a job to make ends meet. There’s a roof I have to keep over my sister’s head and apparently some of your heads as well. And I finally found a job that doesn’t make me go completely bonkers in the first five minutes.” More like, it took an hour or two, but hey, that was an improvement.

 

“You lasted longer than five minutes on the construction site,” Xander protested.

 

“She wasn’t being literal, mate,” Spike interjected.

 

“What you’re saying makes sense to me, Buffy,” Tara said before gliding past Spike and Buffy and aiming for the yogurt machines. “Who wants yogurt?”

 

Anya tugged Xander along with her, leaving Willow behind. The redhead swayed back and forth a bit as if she wasn’t sure what to say. Her hair was a bit lackluster, her face full of sorrow.

 

Looking down at her feet, she finally said, “I think Xander’s feeling guilty about the demon he conjured.”

 

“As he should be,” Spike muttered. “Funny way of showing it.”

 

“A-and we’re all not so great.” Willow met Buffy’s eyes finally. “We messed up.” Before Buffy could respond, the witch followed the rest of her friends.

 

Buffy closed her eyes briefly to cope with the huge swell of emotions that threatened to overcome her again. Then, she felt Spike’s cooler fingers lacing between hers. He squeezed just slightly and then let go. The world righted itself, and she smiled at him before mouthing, “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome, pet.” He returned her smile.

 

“I got this,” Buffy said, setting her jaw.

 

Spike searched her eyes seemingly to make sure she meant it. Then, he nodded and took his leave, returning to the main area of the shop to move tables and mop under chairs.

 

Buffy held her head high and joined her friends by the yogurt machines. Xander and Anya were clustered in front of the nutty coconut flavor, speaking in hushed almost strained-sounding whispers. Willow was standing in front of the German chocolate staring as the dark brown yogurt slowly filled her cup. Only Tara looked up at Buffy and gave her a smile, one corner of her lips lifting.

 

Tara gestured at the mangled, mostly empty machine. “What happened?”

 

Buffy hugged her elbows. “I guess I don’t know my own strength.”

 

Tara’s lips formed a small “oh,” and then, she said, “Poor pistachio.” Buffy swore that Tara was talking about her.

 

“Yeah.” Tears glazed Buffy’s eyes, but she managed to blink them away.

 

Tara touched her arm, and Buffy saw how genuine she was being. “I’m always here. If you need to talk. You don’t have to avoid the whole house and everyone.”

 

Buffy felt like her efforts had been exposed, but for some reason, Tara’s observation didn’t feel too bad. There was relief there. “I know. I just. . . I needed. . . need time.” Buffy caught a hint of distress in the witch’s eyes and considered that it wasn’t all about her. “Are you okay?”

 

Tara nodded hesitantly and glanced away. “As I can be. The singing. . .well, I learned something – ” Willow approached then, and Tara swiped at her cheek with the back of her hand before the redhead could see. “H-hey, Wil. What’d you get?”

 

Willow half-heartedly held up her yogurt. “German chocolate.” Her eyebrows drew together. “You don’t have anything.”

 

Tara shrugged. “Not hungry, I guess. I’ll share yours. If that’s okay with you?”

 

Xander and Anya sidled up, each with a heaping pile of yogurt.

 

Anya leaned forward. “You know, Buffy, you don’t have to work here at this place. If you need a job that badly, you could always come back to the Magic Box. You were pretty awful at sales, but I think with some training, you could do much better.”

 

Xander waited expectantly for Buffy’s response, and she smashed down her annoyance. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea, Anya. But thank you.”

 

Xander made a face. “And working here with him is?”

 

Buffy reminded herself to be firmer. “It is.” She didn’t dare look in Spike’s direction, but she assumed that he heard her. Vampire hearing and all.

 

“Okay. Well, if you change your mind. . . .” Anya sounded as if she thought Buffy was crazy.

 

“C’mon, An. Let’s get toppings.” Xander led Anya in the direction of the bar.

 

Willow dejectedly followed them, and Tara gave Buffy one last look.

 

Buffy whispered, “I’m here for you, too.”

 

Tara merely smiled and trailed after her girlfriend.

 

Spike rejoined the group, allowing Buffy to stand to one side as he rang up her friends. He leered at them, especially Xander, and appeared to take great pleasure in accepting their money. “You’ll be taking these to go.” Spike wasn’t asking. Instead, he clicked domed lids into place on the three cups and shoved the yogurt, plastic spoons, and napkins into a paper bag.

 

As Buffy’s friends headed out the door, they grabbed their umbrellas, which had been left by the shop’s entrance.

 

“Hey!” Anya exclaimed, her voice growing fainter as she walked away. “It stopped raining.”

 

Before Spike and Buffy had a chance to regroup, Max pushed his way into the shop, a broad grin on his face. “Hey, hey! My wife sent me to check on things, but really, I think because she’s not completely dilated yet, she wanted to nap. That and I forgot my camera. I just saw some customers leaving! How’s it going?”

 

Buffy exchanged a glance with Spike who was also smiling, his blue eyes sparkling with good humor. The evening hadn’t been perfect, but then again, what in her life was ever perfect? Genuinely matching his happy expression, she turned back to Max and said, “It’s going great, but there’s a little problem with the pistachio.”

 

“Nothing that can’t be fixed with a little time and patience,” Spike added, taking her hand again.

 

This time, she squeezed back.

 

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
